


numerics

by butbythegrace



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Death marks, Discrimination, FMA 03 Ending, First Time, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Sexual Content, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butbythegrace/pseuds/butbythegrace
Summary: In which people are born with the time and date of their death on their wrist and Edward Elric isn't the only one with a confession to make.





	numerics

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 520 you wonderful souls.
> 
> Special thanks to my bestie for reading this to make sure it was suitable for general consumption. The things you do for me. <3
> 
> I have not seen In Time, but I have seen a random Tumblr prompt and it got away from me.
> 
> [mood board](https://hawkiceeyes.tumblr.com/post/174911222861/in-which-people-are-born-with-the-time-and-date-of) from hawkiceeyes that made me cry a little.
> 
> [pf](https://www.pillowfort.io/butbythegrace) | [tw](https://twitter.com/butbythegrace1)

Roy Mustang trusted in math, but not numbers.

Math was objective, without opinion. It was right, or it was wrong. It was allowed, or it wasn’t. But take away the rules of math and numbers were near as meaningless as his numeric mark.

It was perfect in every way. It started at the thumb side of his right wrist, neatly placed across a few-inch-long horizontal plane directed toward his elbow. All twelve numbers were present. The color was dark. And it was a great sum. It had gotten him to the position he currently held, and was leading him into the unknown.

The first four numbers leered at him from beneath his sleeve. 0034.

12:34am. 1234. A charming peculiarity, but without the obviousness of 12:34pm.

He rubbed his index finger and thumb over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. God. He would pick hours before he and Hawkeye put their plan into action to have an identity crisis.

Despite the risks she had gone out undercover to get a feel for what the city would be like that evening, particularly the area around the Fuhrer’s manor. They would soon stage their coup, the _real_ coup, not the diversion that had sucked a good number of soldiers to the north. It would be their only chance to destroy the monster who had facilitated the ruination of their lives and country. At Alex’s encouragement his parents and sister had left Central on extended vacation and so there Roy sat in the empty mansion while the rest of the military, save for his team, thought he was hundreds of miles away.

He had a look around the room. It was as palatial as the rest of the estate, gargantuan for a guest bedroom, with soaring ceilings, exposed wooden beams, and matching hardwood floors. The fireplace was adorned with a sitting area and the plush four poster bed sat at least ten feet behind. The entire south facing wall was floor to ceiling windows, the curtains of which were drawn tight. Even the fireplace sat cold and empty. He couldn’t take any chance of being noticed. Having Hawkeye out and about was dicey enough as it was.

He pulled up his sleeve a little. In the dimmed recessed lighting, 003423101963 stared back.

According to his numeric mark he would die at 12:34am on October 23, 1963. He would be 78 years old. 78 was a great sum, one that afforded him many things, especially in the way of his military career. A longer life was always favorable. The sight of it should have comforted him. But he knew better.

Because a number, no matter how good or bad or ordinary, wasn’t a guarantee. On average two percent of the population died every year before their number was up. It had once seemed like such a small, asinine number. Someone was more likely to be struck by lightning. Roy couldn’t remember when he’d gotten complacent with that fact. Perhaps through his obsessive research of malnumerics he’d become desensitized. Maybe he felt far too comfortable with the odds.

But then Maes was gone, leaving a gaping hole in his life that no amount of statistics and math could help ease. At 29 he had been short changed over 40 years of life and all he received in return was the pointless post-humus promotion and diagnosis.

Brigadier General Maes Hughes. Idionumeric. A terrible sounding term that meant ‘this person died too soon and we don’t know why it happens’.

His death reminded Roy, more than ever, that the numbers on his own wrist didn’t mean a thing.

He thought of Hawkeye. Havoc. Breda. Falman. Fuery. He knew their numbers by heart. They all wore good ones. It was near unheard of for the military to allow a dysnumeric to obtain rank. After all, what was someone’s worth when their time would be up by 25?

At least, that was the opinion of those who seemingly made the world go round. Dysnumerics received the brunt of malnumeric discrimination, often abandoned as babies and refused by schools and employers alike. If accepted into the military they could expect to never go beyond the most basic of duties. It was senseless. It was primitive. And it was kept alive by Bradley's regime.

His thoughts drifted to Ed, as they tended to do. Edward Elric would live to be 68 years old. It said so right on his birth certificate which, considering Ed’s situation, was all they had to go off. For someone born in 1899, 005626031967 was an average number. A good number. Come morning, Ed would have exactly 50 years of life left to live. Funny how things worked.

Roy hoped they would get another chance, but even if they did - even if they were both alive come morning - he wouldn’t be surprised if Ed would never speak to him again.

He had just seen Ed. Had chased him down on the banks of a river, had listened to him curse and yell and had yelled right back until the tension finally broke, because sometimes Ed needed to be reminded that he was more than just a shiny thing to help Roy climb his political ladder. He always had been, and over the course of the last year had become even more, their rocky relationship developing a tentative but weighted thing that neither of them had acted on beyond words and fleeting contact. Ed had not only allowed but fiercely returned Roy’s embrace upon their goodbye in Resembool. And with that, Roy had felt at peace.

He should have known that Ed and peace did not go hand in hand for long.

He received the call as soon as he arrived in Central. _He knows_. Sheska had been in tears and apologetic, having had no idea Ed had been unaware of Maes’ death. She and the Rockbells and his brother had tried to soothe his fury to no avail. The word hate may have been used. And then he was gone, leaving everyone in the dust and out of the loop, Al close on his heels.

Roy inquired once to Al’s number. Ed said it was a great one, that Al could live longer than Roy even, and that it had a lot of fives.

He held out hope that his teams’ and the Elrics’ numbers bore the truth. He reminded himself that, if anyone would die that night, it would most likely be him.

There was a rapping at the door, a pause, and two more knocks. He was surprised Hawkeye had returned so soon, having left less than half an hour ago. Dread bloomed in his chest as he made his way to the door. Had something gone wrong? No, she wouldn’t have come back if she were spotted or followed. Were there still too many soldiers, too many guards?

He turned the lock and was surprised to open the door not to Hawkeye, but _Ed_. And oh, his hair was down, shimmering gold that swished around his shoulders when he looked up, his coat desaturated to a dirty white. A decent disguise for an AWOL member of the military to sneak about Central. Decent would pass when headquarters was sparse of soldiers, with those left behind too concerned with much more than struggling to take up the slack.

“Sup,” Ed greeted, raising a hand. If Roy hadn’t been so stunned he might have flinched from that hand, well-aware he wasn’t currently Ed’s favorite human.

“Wh-”

“Hawkeye picked me up,” Ed said, slipping past and into the room.

“How-”

“Don’t get on my case for it, but I kinda threw myself in front of her car,” Ed said as he sauntered over to the sitting area, a sofa bracketed by two arm chairs that faced one another with a coffee table in between.

Still reeling from surprise, Roy checked the hallway behind him.

“She headed back out,” Ed informed him and shucked off his coat. “Said she had enough of a headache without listening to us scream at each other again.”

“Screaming at you would not be my first choice,” Roy said as he closed the door. And then with a little foresight, twisted the lock back into place. The last thing he needed was someone unwelcome gaining easy access to the room if they _did_ start screaming at each other.

Ed laid his coat over the back of the sofa before flopping onto the cushions. He crossed his legs, slung his arm over the arm rest, and looked over at Roy expectantly.

Roy ran his hand along the back of the adjacent arm chair and came to a stop alongside it. He was suspicious. Discretion was critical in this situation but it was unlike Ed to be so civil when he had to be absolutely pissed. Having the chair between them was a harmless momentary precaution.

“What are you doing here?” Roy asked.

Ed cocked his head to the side. “What are _you_ doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be up north?”

“A long story,” Roy evaded. “Why were you pitching yourself in front of vehicles?”

Ed shrugged. “I needed a ride.”

“To be in such a hurry to get somewhere, but then come back here?” Roy decided to take his seat, moving carefully, like a prey animal expecting to set off a predator.

“Also a long story,” Ed countered, eyes sharp as he watched Roy’s movements, drumming his fingers on the arm rest. “Armstrongs out of town, sneaking around an empty mansion, guessing it’s not a house party.”

It was a sad attempt at his usual smirk. Roy's body wanted to betray him and relax in Ed’s presence. He was so damn tired. “Unfortunately.”

Ed looked around again. “You would hide in a bedroom.”

“Might you have an improved suggestion?”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah? The library. Gives you something to do other than mope.”

“I am not moping,” Roy said flatly.

“Your face says otherwise,” Ed said and nudged Roy’s foot with his boot. “So c’mon. Out with it.”

It bewildered him that Ed was not only willing to be in his company but was conversing with and even touching him.

He wondered if it was a test. Maybe Ed was waiting to see if he would bring up his error in handling Maes’ death on his own, giving him one last chance to redeem himself. But it wasn’t like Ed to give second chances and for the moment he seemed cool and composed, so Roy decided to ride out the mood for as long as it would last. If he wasn’t going to talk about Maes, he would have to tell Ed why he was there. Ed had to be aware of his goal even though they’d never spoken of it, and if anything it would at least be a good distraction.

Roy took a deep breath and sighed. “I have come to the conclusion that my intention of obtaining the Fuhrership is a slight short-sighted, and the end-all I truly seek is to simply guide this country in an improved direction.”

Ed was staring, waiting, and not yelling. Roy couldn’t get over the outline of him and how every limb seemed to be placed just so. The dip of his head, the barely contained inferno in his eyes. It always sent a thrill down his spine when Ed looked at him like that.

“To do that by becoming Fuhrer is easy, but that chance will not come in time,” he continued. “It has become my responsibility to make way for the next Fuhrer. To avenge Hughes and our country that these monsters have been manipulating and leeching for their own gain. It may not be the place in history I envisioned, but it is not a place I’m unwilling to go to.”

The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched. “It’s a shame. You'd be a great one.”

Compliments too? He wouldn't put it past Ed to lull him into a false sense of security. “Just like you were a great state alchemist?” Roy asked with a hint of a smile.

Ed gave a huff that may have been a laugh. “Exactly like that.”

And it really was, wasn’t it? They were two men who only pursued their ranks to fix the mistakes they had made. And they were both okay with their paths taking them away from what they had worked hard to obtain. If giving their lives meant the ones they loved got to keep theirs, they would do it, no holds barred.

Ed averted his eyes to the empty fireplace when he asked, “So, tyrranicidal Fuhrership candidate, what’s your stance on society’s handling of numerics?”

A similar train of thought to the one Roy had been on previously. Ed was weighing his number, weighing his odds, if they existed at all. Roy didn't know what Ed was doing in Central but whatever he was involved in was at least as dangerous as Roy’s own mission, likely involving more than one homunculus, and the reminder of what lay ahead made his chest tight.

But Ed was here, and talking to him, and if Ed wanted to talk about numerics, then that’s what they would talk about.

“The entire numeric societal system is…you can’t even call it broken, because it was never functional. It’s simply another way to divide us. And it works incredibly well for being so clearly discriminative.”

Ed nodded. “Malnumerics in particular.”

Oddly specific. Roy wondered who the interest was born from. He wasn’t aware of anyone of significant connection to Ed who was a malnumeric. It could be Al, but it seemed like such a pointless thing to lie about. As far as he knew Al had no intention of joining the military, the most notable adherent to numeric discrimination. He assumed Ed’s mother had been an idionumeric, but since they were undiagnosable until death, they were treated by society as their mark read. It wasn't likely to be her.

Perhaps it was Sheska, who with a sum of 27 was very near being considered a dysnumeric. She was often regarded as such anyway. Ed had fought tooth and nail for her, and not just for her former position in the library but one that showcased her incredible abilities, and it was also Sheska who had just broken the news to him.

Roy readied himself for the conversation to quickly head south.

“The military doesn’t typically deal with malnumerics. Many institutions don’t,” Roy said, watchful of Ed’s expression. “I’m sure you understand why.”

Ed’s eyes darkened at his words. “It’s disgusting,” he spat. “People beating others out because a mark on their wrist says they’ll live just one more year. Month. Maybe someone’s is just prettier to look at. Some never get a chance.” He paused and his jaw worked. “I _know_ why they do it. But I’ll never understand.”

It was clearly a touchy subject.

“A number does not define the person. It does not reveal their character, and it does not mean that they can’t be something great. Achieve amazing things. Make a difference.” Roy tapped the spot where his number lay under his sleeve. “I’m well-aware I’ve gotten where I am because of mine. A mark that has absolutely no guarantee.”

“Existential crisis much?” Ed asked, flashing his teeth, more a showing of the canines than a true smile. Roy couldn't help but wonder what those teeth would feel like on his throat.

“Perhaps a bit,” he agreed with a wry smile. “However. There is no justification in judging a person’s worth by their number. Revealing a mark ought to be a voluntary decision without consequence.”

Ed nodded, slowly, and took a deep breath. He reached over his shoulder to yank his coat onto the cushions beside him and dug around in the pocket as Roy watched with interest. Ed’s hand curled around something and he hesitated. “I came here because I’ve got something for you,” he said quietly.

Touches. Compliments. Gifts. If Roy didn’t know better, he would assume he was being flirted with. He managed a deceptively coy smile despite his perplexion. “Do you now?”

“Don’t make it weird, bastard,” Ed grouched, a flush tinging his cheeks as he produced a photograph. “It’s a, uh. Picture of me ’n Al. As kids,” he said, offering it to Roy. “We were going through stuff in Resembool and I realized you’d never seen him.” His hand had a slight tremor. Surely he was trying to distract Roy so he wouldn’t see the knockout coming. But he took the photo anyway.

The boys looked to be less than double digits. Ed was making strong arms with a fishing pole in hand and an enormous grin on his face while Al held their catch and gave an easy smile. He had golden hair and eyes just a few shades darker than Ed’s own, though Al’s features were sweeter and softer. He must favor their mother, Roy decided, but they were undeniably brothers. He was hoping for a glimpse of Al’s number and a chance to see what constituted as ‘a lot of fives’, but to his disappointment Al’s wrist was turned away. He turned his attention back to the grinning form of Ed, whose wrist was in full view, and froze.

His heart bottomed out. It was worse than any punch Ed could have thrown.

Roy stared at it dumbly for a few seconds, blinked hard, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried again. It didn’t change. His eyes flicked to Ed, who looked a level of somber only seen on him when he dealt with death. He held Roy's gaze until Roy looked back to the picture.

There was a time in his youth when he had been obsessed with malnumerics. It was simply a blanket term for a bad number. He had poured over books and articles, memorizing each defect and statistic by heart, trying make sense of it all. He would have done anything to understand why it happened, but there was no reason, no pattern, no genetic link.

Sometimes the flaw was minor and a simple issue of placement, like a contranumeric with their number on the left wrist, or an ipsinumeric with theirs across the wrist. Then there were the cryptonumerics with one or more missing numbers. Anumerics with no number at all. Idionumerics. Dysnumerics. And, as if the idea of a dysnumeric wasn’t bad enough, there was an even further subset.

The precocious numeric. 18 years or less.

Roy looked back to the photo, held it closer, swept a finger over the mark. 005626031917.

Edward Elric would live to be 18 years old.

Edward Elric would live for less than eight more hours.

And suddenly it wasn’t about worrying whether Ed would ever forgive him or even speak to him again, or that they would both succeed in their missions and be lucky enough to have time to address whatever the thing between them was. They had all been such miniscule possibilities anyway, outcomes he knew weren’t meant for him. If Ed never wanted him, never wanted anything to do with him, that was fine. But to have no Ed in the world at all was one of the most painful realities Roy could imagine.

“Why,” he said quietly.

Ed shrugged. “The military wouldn’t’ve looked at me twice.”

Roy took a deep breath. His eyes felt like fire. “Why didn’t you tell _me?”_

“I’m telling you now.” Always quick with a smartass remark. He wasn’t wrong, but it stung nonetheless.

Roy kept the photo in his hand, hoping the threat of damaging it would keep him steady. “Did you…did you think, after all I’ve done for you, the things I’ve covered and kept between us, that _this_ would have been where I drew the line?” His voice was harsh and on the verge of trembling. He didn’t know where it stemmed from. Anger. Fear. Heartbreak. All of the above, probably.

“How the hell was I supposed to know?” Ed snapped, his own anger igniting and _fuck_ he was breathtaking when angry. “And you’re one to preach at _me_. I- I thought-” He slipped a hand into his bangs to hide his face and grit his teeth, the skin visible around his hand tinged pink, as if he was trying to keep from yelling.

Roy was beside himself. Ed always did know how to make him lose his carefully practiced composure and he didn’t have the capacity to say more than, “What did you think?”

Ed made a sound of frustration from behind his hand and let it fall so he could glare at Roy. “Oh I don’t know, that we had _something?”_

Roy’s eyes widened. Oh. That’s where this was heading. And Ed was looking at him like _that_ again and his heart shouldn’t be able leap while breaking. “Ed-”

“With all the looks and the flirting but you never-” Ed squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I thought maybe there was just too much in the way – your position, my age – but then you hid Liore. You hid _Hughes_ ,” he said, brows pinching a little harder at their friend’s name. “So now I feel like some dumb kid who got his signals crossed and feelings hurt but if I’m going to die, then I need you to know that this is where it ends for me, and that I’m _pissed off_.” He punctuated his expletive with two jabs of his finger, the words ringing in the suddenly silent tension.

Sitting in the face of death was not how Roy envisioned they would confront any of this.

At the time he had thought he was doing the right thing. Ed and Al had their own journey and goals and within it was no time to mourn so heavily or feel the anguished need for revenge. Maes wouldn’t have wanted it.

“There was too much happening at the time for you to worry about issues that would only serve to slow you down,” Roy said, even though it sounded ridiculous in the current context. If only he’d known what Ed was hiding. It was damn near laughable, but in the worst of ways.

“I _dealt_ with my mother, and I _dealt_ with Nina, and I don’t need you to decide what I can and can’t handle!” Ed shouted with a smack of his palm to the arm rest, confirming Roy’s suspicion about his mother. “You obviously thought I had time to be looked at the way you looked at me, to say the kinds of things you did.”

Roy had to bite back a bitter laugh _. Of course_ he thought he had time for the future. Wonder what lead him to believe that. But if he said that aloud the screaming would start in earnest, and that was not his intention. It was his own fault this was happening.

“The decision I made was based on my opinion of your best interests,” he defended. “If anything, I let my feelings toward you influence me _too_ much. I have watched you fight so hard for so long that the thought of anything getting in your way was worse than the idea of you finding out on your own.”

Ed scowled. “Doesn’t sound like much of an apology.”

“The only thing I will ever be sorry for is the way you found out,” Roy told him, and it was the truth. When he made the decision to not tell Ed, he had accepted that it very well wouldn’t be him to break the news. He just hadn’t expected such shitty timing. “As for this – us – I am no different. I gave enough to suggest a future, but I was a distraction. And I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you.”

“So you decided to distract me with thoughts of what we’d be like instead of just giving me the memories.” Ed's laugh sounded miserable. “I’ve played about a thousand different scenarios of us in my head. Want to guess how much time I probably spent doing it?”

Roy did not want to guess. Even if it was less than the amount of time he himself had spent, the answer would still be too much. Too many nights spent in longing. Too many days spent in guilt. His lack of forthright had them standing on unequal ground to begin with, but Ed had still offered him something precious that he didn’t deserve. The truth. The chance to say goodbye.

He came to the decision without hesitation. It might only serve to make Ed more angry and distrustful than he was, or maybe it could give them a fraction of a chance to mend the torn seams of whatever their relationship could be called. At that point he had nothing to lose. There was only one thing he could give in return to Ed’s confession, and that was his own.

Roy placed the photo on the coffee table and smoothed his finger down the edge. Even after their mother’s death, they had been able to smile like this. It was because they’d already made the decision, he realized. They had already begun to plan what they thought was a resurrection that couldn’t go wrong.

“The rate of abandonment for a precocious numeric baby is 53 percent,” Roy said, and Ed’s anger flared.

“Because those parents are pieces of shit,” he spat, glaring. “It never mattered to my mom.”

From the few things Roy could gather about Trisha Elric, he knew she was a beautiful soul. To raise two young children on her own, one of them not only being Ed, but a precocious numeric Ed, was something to marvel at. No wonder they had been so set on bringing her back. There weren’t enough people in the world like her.

Roy sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “Did I ever tell you about my aunt?” he asked.

Ed still looked pissed, but he relaxed just a fraction. “Yeah. She raised you.”

“Have you ever wondered why?”

“Honestly yeah, and there were rumors, but it’s not my fucking business.”

“What sort of rumors?” He was always curious as to what the general population of soldiers had to say about him, something he wasn't privy to often.

“Just that you were an orphan.”

It might as well be true. It could be for all he knew.

“Did you know,” Roy started slowly, “that the rate of abandonment for anumeric babies is nearly just as high?”

Ed’s head tilted, eyes narrowing a fraction. “You know an awful lot about malnumerics for someone with such a great number,” he said suspiciously.

“48 percent,” Roy continued with a wink. Ed stared at him hard. “Apparently it’s only a little less painful to not know _when_ your child will die. Isn’t that just…bizarre?”

Roy saw it click. Ed’s eyes widened.

"Can you imagine what the world would be like if _none_ of us knew?" Roy mused softly. 

Ed's mouth parted in disbelief. “You-” he stopped and his golden eyes flitted to Roy’s wrist, where they both knew a number lay under his sleeve. “You’re anumeric?”

Roy couldn't help his smug smile. There had always been something so satisfying about surprising him. “I was three weeks old when my aunt officially took custody.”

Ed shook his head, slowly. “Hold on, just- damn,” he said, rubbing a hand down his face and pausing to take another long look at Roy. “Being from somewhere so rural made it relatively easy to fake a birth certificate ‘cause nobody out there files their shit but weren’t you born in Central?”

Roy shook his head. “Somewhere in Xing there is a record of birth for Baby Boy Mustang and nothing further after.”

His aunt had even given him the name his parents had planned, just to spite them. The chances of them coming forward to claim his actual numeric status were incredibly slim, not when they were a desert away and it was seen as an embarrassment in many countries to have a malnumeric child.

“I thought she didn’t take you in until you were older.”

“That’s when I was first allowed to be seen. When I was old enough to be artificially marked.”

Ed seemed to accept him at that, his confusion melting into sympathy. “Must have been lonely.”

“In a way. I had a legion of surrogate sisters to keep me company, but as far as peers my own age went, yes, it was lonely.”

Ed’s face fell into sadness. “The girls. Were most of them…did they…”

Roy knew what he meant. He nodded. “Dysnumerics. Yes.”

His aunt's girls had truly been like family to him, lovely and intelligent but left with very few options to support themselves. Many of them stayed until their time ran out. He got used to saying final goodbyes but he never got any better at it. God, and he thought he was done with those, but he would be doing it again in just a matter of hours.

The thought must have made him look particularly morose because there was a new ease and gentleness about Ed as he took off his gloves and extended his left hand. “Can I?” he asked.

Roy obliged, pulling up his sleeve and setting his hand palm-up into Ed’s. His skin was warm and calloused, the touch of his thumb swiping across the number electric. Roy wanted to put his lips to the pulse point at his wrist, to each fingertip. Ed, ever the focused scientist, seemed oblivious. “What’s it made with?” he asked.

“Regular tattoo ink. I have the ability to change its composition via alchemy, though only temporarily, lest I want to poison myself.”

“But you can get it to behave to pass tests when needed,” Ed surmised, fascinated. He pressed his fingertips to the mark and massaged tiny little circles, a typical test for scar tissue. “How did you heal the scarring?”

“Alkahestry. An alkahestress carried out the entire process.”

Ed shook his head and beamed. “Man. I've only seen a couple and they were shoddy, like imminent removal shoddy, and this is just so _real_.”

Roy felt a tiny bit of pride at his praise despite not having had much to do with the process. All he had known at the time was that he was being strapped down for his own good, because if it wasn’t perfect and the government found out, they would burn it off of him.

“Does anyone else know?” Ed asked.

His aunt's girls who had known were long gone now. “Other than those who devised the plan to construct it, only Hughes and Hawkeye.”

 _And it feels really good to tell you_ he wanted to add. He looked at Ed and couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him to carry his own secret. He had Al, Roy supposed, but dealing with the knowledge of an early death- it just wasn’t the same.

Ed smiled and kept Roy’s wrist. “No wonder she made me come here.”

“You told her about your mark?” Roy asked, surprised.

Ed snorted. “Well, yeah. I uh- told her so she could pass it along,” he admitted. “But she said it wasn’t my time yet and that the least I could do was be the one to tell you. She also locked the car doors and threatened me,” he said with a little laugh.

Sounded about right.

“And what if you hadn’t found her?” Roy asked softly, afraid of the answer.

Ed hesitated, bit his lip, covered Roy’s number with his hand. Roy had done the same for years after he was marked, trying to remember what it had looked like before they made the first needle stick. “You asked where I was headed.” Roy nodded. “I was trying to get to your apartment.”

Another barb to the wound. The thought of Ed disappearing from his world with the only evidence a simple spoken message or a picture through the mail slot made him feel a little sick. He owed Riza the world.

Ed kept stroking the mark with his thumb, as if captivated by the fact that they both wore deceit to achieve their goals. “After what Al and I did- I accepted that I was very well going to have to give up my life for his. I hoped I could somehow do it and have time left over, but-” He turned his automail hand over. The number, the one that had left Roy believing there would be time, gleamed neatly at his wrist where a real one would be. “This isn’t what was given to me. And I need to make what I’ve got worth something.”

Winry had to know. Roy wondered if she’d cried as she engraved the lie for the world to see. He wished it was so easy to fix the workings of fate.

“And maybe it’s selfish of me,” Ed kept on, fidgety, nervous. “But I can’t- I can’t go- without knowing-”

Roy looked up from Ed’s number, Ed’s eyes boring into his own. “Knowing what?” he breathed.

Ed circled his fingers around Roy’s wrist and yanked him over, crashing their mouths together, pent up and unskilled and they were lucky they didn’t knock one another out on impact. He was still on the couch and Roy on the chair and the angle was awkward, their knees colliding and hitting the table and Roy had to steady a hand on Ed’s leg to keep from toppling over. But as far as awkward, aggressive first kisses went, no other could compare. Roy was sure he was going to combust.

Their faces shared surprise when they parted, but Roy knew his own gave away more. He could feel the warmth in his soul but the heartache clamping down on his chest. Ed’s eyes widened, and Roy knew that he saw it too.

“Oh,” Ed breathed. They leaned in again, gentler now, Ed’s automail on his arm and flesh hand still holding the front of his shirt while Roy’s hands came up to cradle his face. Ed smelled like leather and tasted like mint when he pushed his tongue into Roy’s mouth, clumsy but eager and expertly following Roy’s lead like the prodigy he was at seemingly everything he did.

And Roy would have been happy right there, would have been content to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until they had to say goodbye, and so of course it had to be Ed who eventually pulled back, one of Roy’s hands slipping away while the other stubbornly stayed cupped to his cheek. His face was flushed and lips red. Whatever it looked like he had to say must have been important because it didn’t seem like he wanted to stop either.

“I did not see that confession coming,” Ed said breathlessly. “And this is great and all, but I was hoping for some other form of equivalency.”

“And that is?”

Ed flushed scarlet from his hairline to the little bit of chest Roy could see peeking from beneath his jacket but his expression was set when he said, “Fuck me.”

Leave it to Ed to get right to the point. If Roy’s brain had been functioning at capacity he probably would have been able to see it coming, but as it was the request caught him off guard. He pulled back and his lingering hand slipped away.

Ed was an adult – had been one for years before the law acknowledged he was – but he was still young and, as far as Roy knew, hardly had experience to speak of. He didn’t want this to be a pity thing, that he was the last person Ed would see and the last chance he would get and so it might as well happen, because as much as Roy wanted him, he didn’t want to be that to Ed.

He didn’t _want_ to, but he also wasn’t sure he was capable of saying no. The majority of Ed’s life had been filled with pain and he was never going to escape from it. The least Roy could do was give him this.

“You’re a bastard and I’m still pissed at you,” Ed said, and that didn’t make Roy feel any better. “But. The people we love sometimes piss us off. And I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like just because we’re both idiots.”

Love.

Love was not the word he ever thought Ed would use in conjunction with him. He would have described Ed’s reactions to his increasingly unsubtle advances as tolerant, curious. That his reciprocation was experimental, a test to see just how far he could get Roy to take it, just how much he could push him before the colonel cracked. But for Ed to return the feelings he’d harbored for longer than he cared to admit?

Roy rubbed a hand down his face. His doubts were all too eager to go flying but he was still incapable of forming a coherent sentence. Ed was really here, getting ready to leave this world, and asking this of him.

Ed looked more nervous as the clock ticked by. Whether it was the audible sound of his time running out or the fact that Roy had yet to say anything, he didn’t know.

“I know you had your reasons but seeing as you’re about to overthrow the government and I’m, well, y’know,” Ed said with a shrug and a smile, like he wasn’t living his last moments. He was young, but it didn’t take away his ability to love on that level, even if it was just for a short time, even if given more they would probably crash and burn.

Roy swallowed. He reached for Ed’s hand, the automail, and Ed let him, watching as Roy turned his wrist and pressed his lips to the two numbers that made all the difference in the world. “I lied to you twice,” he said, looking up. “We’re still unequal.”

Ed’s face lit up, hopeful and beautifully bright. “Yeah?”

Roy’s heart started to pick up pace. “Yeah,” he agreed.

His hand slipped from Ed’s wrist as Ed turned back to his coat and reached into the pocket again. He tossed something at Roy and he caught it, a small plastic container filled with something liquid.

“Swiped some oil from the kitchen on my way in.”

Roy looked incredulously from the container to Ed, and Ed shrugged.

“I know what I came here for. The point was to save time so if we could please get the fuck on with it-”

Roy silenced him with a kiss. And they kept kissing. He wasn’t sure if Ed had kissed before him but it didn’t matter, not when it was _Ed_ , not when each was even better than the one before it, when his hands were on Roy’s face and in his hair and pushing the waistcoat off his shoulders, fiddling open the buttons on his shirt, and the clothes continued to shed. But with the biggest bed Roy had ever seen in his life at their disposal, there was no way it was happening on the couch. The comforter and approximately three hundred unnecessary pillows hit the floor before they slipped each other out of the rest of their clothes and proceeded to make use of the cool cotton sheets.

Ed slid to the middle of the mattress on his back with Roy in pursuit right over top of him, yielding to Ed’s hand on the back of his neck as Ed pulled him close and nipped at his mouth. He hissed when Roy ground their lower bodies together and eagerly reciprocated. His skin was soft but body dense and strong, moving with a wild edge that reminded Roy of fire and it _felt_ like it too, everywhere their skin touched hot and prickling. The kiss and grind was, in Ed’s words, great and all, but after a couple of minutes of getting each other worked up, Roy was intent on exploring the skin he had never seen before. When he started to edge south Ed was instantly on guard, eyes wide and body tense.

“Okay?” Roy asked, mouth hovering over Ed’s collarbone, breath ghosting across his skin.

“’m fine,” Ed mumbled unconvincingly, his death grip in the sheets giving him away.

He was clearly not fine, and it didn’t take much longer for Roy to figure it out. Ed may have asked for the contact, but it didn’t mean he was necessarily keen on the idea of fully baring his body. If he wasn’t hiding pieces of himself with a little twist here and a crooked knee there, he had his flesh arm thrown over his face, blushing down to his chest.

Roy pressed himself up against Ed’s side and gently tried to move his arm but was met with resistance and a sound of protest. He felt a flick of amusement but also a rush of empathy. First times were awkward in more ways than they weren't and it couldn’t have helped that Ed thought not much of himself and too much of his scars.

He stroked his fingers down Ed’s forearm and across his collarbone, smoothing his touch over the metal bolting the automail to Ed’s body. They were both so different, and still so much the same. Gold and coal, tawny and ivory, but their bodies were those of soldiers, skin sharing the marks of their trials. For all that Ed contrasted with Roy, he also did himself and Roy found it fitting for him to gleam in the tones of two precious elements.

He kissed Ed’s ribs, earning him a ticklish twitch and hitched breath. “Ed. I know you don’t believe me, but please listen. You are incredible, beautiful. Every scar a story, and you have more of those than most people I know. You’ve _lived_ more than most people I know.”

Ed swallowed. Took a deep breath. And slowly moved his arm. The blush remained, but his beautiful golden eyes opened, boring into Roy’s own.

“Quit being sappy and do me, old man.”

Roy laughed against his shoulder.

He would have liked to show Ed more but time was slipping away and they both had work to do yet. Roy worked him open with gentle patience, placing open kisses to his collarbones, his neck, mouthing along his jaw and trying to keep himself from grinding against him, all while Ed gasped and rolled his hips, seeking the same friction.

He found it in the palm of Roy’s hand and the press of him against that aching spot inside. Ed's fingertips dug into Roy’s shoulder blades as he panted and held on for dear life through the adjustment.

“I know, I’ve got you,” Roy soothed. Ed whined, eyes squeezed shut. “It gets better, I promise.”

Ed’s chest heaved and Roy could feel his heart racing. He tangled his hands in loose blond hair, kissed Ed’s temple and nuzzled his face into his neck, then nosed his way back up to Ed’s ear and tilted back to get a look at his face, flushed and tense but seemingly in concentration and not pain. After a few more deep breaths, Ed’s eyes opened.

“Move,” he demanded in a whisper.

Roy pressed just deeper, a gentle test, and Ed choked and jerked his hips.

“Fu-uuuck,” he breathed, throwing his head back and arching up as Roy’s lips found the pulse at his neck. “Do that aga- oooh,” he crooned when Roy drew the next thrust out a bit further. With a minor adjustment in mind, he tried to sit back but Ed made a noise of confusion, fingers tightening their hold on his shoulders to keep him close.

“I won’t be too far for long,” he promised, pressing his mouth to Ed’s, rolling his hips again and making him gasp. “Trust me.”

Ed’s hold loosened and Roy propped himself up, slinging a leg over each elbow before pressing that angle. Ed’s eyes went huge as he jolted off the bed, and the sudden movement coupled with the cry it ripped from him nearly sent Roy over the edge. They both froze.

“Easy,” Ed breathed shakily, his plea seeming to be directed just as much at himself as it was at Roy, his thighs shaking as he harnessed a patience Roy had never seen in him before. They were both trembling with the effort, neither in a hurry to seek the ending. It hit Roy again.

This was it.

He leaned over Ed, cradling the back of his knees in the angle of his elbows, careful to not let the automail pinch, and just breathed against Ed’s neck while he pulled himself back from riding the wave too high.

This was it, and it would have to be enough.

Ed pushed a hand through Roy’s sweat damp hair, trailed it back down his jaw and under his chin to guide his face over for a kiss. It started sweet but didn’t take long to evolve, Ed’s tongue pressing against the seam of his lips and Roy couldn’t help but grind into him as Ed dipped into his mouth, both of them gasping, and it was _so much_. Something he thought for so long he was foolish for wanting, for _hoping_ he had a chance at. He couldn’t believe they were there, and he desperately tried not to think again about how it would be all they could have.

After a few more moments of stillness Ed’s hands began to wander, down Roy’s chest and abs, up his thighs, then grabbed his ass and squeezed, and that was all the delay Roy could handle. He shuddered and began to move in earnest, a gentle rhythm that at first had Ed pliant, arms loose around his neck and gasps soft as he relaxed and took it. Roy could feel him holding back, getting used to the feeling, finding the rhythm.

Eventually Ed’s own control wavered, or more appropriately, awakened, turning him into something akin to the pulled string of a bow. Fists buried in the sheets and his entire body taut and trembling, he arched his back to let their shared movement collide while making sounds that rivaled his first shout. Roy pressed their foreheads together, their lips, breathing in Ed’s breaths and broken curses as if it was all he needed.

He could tell it wouldn’t be long before they were both lost in it. He tucked his face into the crook of Ed’s neck and should have been embarrassed about the words leaving his mouth, but he couldn’t make them stop as he murmured above and between Ed’s sobs, because Ed deserved to hear, deserved to know, deserved the truth.

There was none greater that Roy knew.

 

 

There wasn’t much time, but they drug out the inevitable like the stubborn, passionate creatures they both were, laying facing one another and pressed together, Roy stroking any part Ed would let him touch; his hair, his ribs, the dip and curve of his hip. Brushed his bangs back to again touch his face, reveling in everything that cradled his soul, the same that had crashed into his life with awkward, youthful anger, honed into breathtaking tenacity that swept him away before he even knew what had happened.

“You could have just been…gone,” Roy said softly.

Ed’s cheeks reddened and he tucked his head under Roy’s chin. “Don’t _be_ like that, Mustang.”

Roy slipped his hand up Ed’s back, forearm pressed along his spine as he pulled him closer. “I meant it,” he whispered into Ed’s hair. “Every word.”

Ed pressed his face into Roy’s throat. He took a breath that shuddered in his chest. “I know.”

 

 

Roy hated goodbyes. They were never right. They were always too awkward or too long or not enough. This one would fall into the last category, a perfect mix of his sisters and his best friend.

Once he learned his aunt’s girls would never be around for long he learned to accept the ending before it happened, and it made it just a little easier. There was a level of distance created from the very beginning. A line he would always be conscious of.

On the other end of the spectrum, Maes’ death had blindsided him horribly, leaving him bereft and bleeding. What would he have done had he known that goodbye would be their last? He had wondered for ages and was getting a chance for that sort of final goodbye now, but he still didn’t know.

They dressed one another in reverence, Ed’s automail surprisingly just as adept at buttoning as unbuttoning. Roy slipped his black jacket on him and freed his hair from the collar, letting it spill down his back.

Ed reached for Roy’s right hand, pressed his lips to his mark, and then buttoned his sleeve cuff. “It’s not my life ending that disappoints me,” he said, buttoning the other cuff as well. “It’s that I don’t get to spend more time with you, and Al, and everyone else. I want to see more of your stories.”

Ed offered him a hair tie from his pocket and turned around. Roy gathered Ed’s hair, separated it into three sections, and began to braid.

“I’ll suffer some injuries and make it out of the encounter alive, but may fall off the wagon for a few years after. I’ll probably work a remote outpost at Briggs until I realize I can’t run from my problems. Lieutenant Hawkeye will disapprove and eventually convince me to remove my head from my ass. It will take a few years and some string pulling to get everyone back under my command, but it eventually happens. Fuery will be married, as will Falman. Breda will still be a bachelor. Hawkeye will be trying to convince herself she and Havoc aren’t in love. Your brother will be a force only rivaled to your own.”

He secured the hair tie just in time for Ed’s head snap around, eyes glaring.

“I swear to God if you bitch out and hide at Briggs I will haunt you. Don’t be a dick and waste everyone’s time.”

 _Please, please haunt me until the day I die_ Roy wanted to beg. Instead he wrapped his arms around Ed from behind, leaning their heads together. “I love you,” he said softly, and Ed’s shoulders heaved. His hand came up to the side of Roy’s face, pressing their cheeks together. His was damp.

“I love you too, you idiot,” he whispered, pulling away to furiously wipe at his eyes before turning to face Roy, whose heart was a thread away from crashing. Ed tipped his head up and Roy leaned in and did his best to remember everything about the moment. The feel of Ed’s lips against his, his taste and scent, the little clicks with each shift of automail. When they finally parted, Roy fought through the grief to memorize his face, expression soft despite his tears, golden skin and hair and eyes that were unlike any other.

“Thank you. For everything,” Ed said. Roy cupped his cheek one last time and Ed closed his eyes and leaned into it, taking a deep breath as Roy’s thumb stroked his cheek bone.

He was too beautiful for this.

Roy wondered how different things could have been if he had told Ed about Maes as soon as he was able. If he’d vented his pain and frustration and uncertainty of life that maybe Ed would have opened up in return instead of condensing their ending into just a few hours.

All too soon Ed had slipped away and opened the door, hesitating in the threshold. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’d better live a good one, Roy.”

His spine trilled at the sound of his name wrapped in Ed's voice.

But it didn’t feel right when Ed stepped out and closed the door. He felt panic rise in his chest, summed it up to the fact that Ed had left pieces of himself behind, and nearly tripped over himself to get to the door and fling it open. He caught sight of Ed’s back disappearing down the hall.

“Ed! Your photo, your coat,” he called, even though it seemed silly to offer the photo that would most likely succumb to Ed’s own fate, or for Ed go back into the outside world with his coat returned to its rightful fire. But he would do anything to hear his voice one more time.

Ed stopped, and turned. His eyes were red and glistening as he smiled and shook his head, like he knew if he took one step back, he would never leave. “I brought them for you,” he said.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Roy wanted nothing more than to wrap Ed up and keep him for the remainder of his time, but he knew it wasn’t possible. What a waste of an ending that would be.

He couldn't fight the lump in his throat any longer. The tears blurred his vision and were hot on his skin and once they started they just kept flowing. He didn't bother to hide them or wipe them away, because Ed deserved that too, to see just how his loss would affect the person he'd trusted with his most vulnerable self.

“Go keep your promise,” Roy told him.

“Look after him for me."

Roy nodded. Ed clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut, and continued walking. Roy watched him turn the corner, every fiber of his being screaming _go after him_ even though he knew he couldn’t. _He couldn’t._

He shut the door. Locked it. Returned to the spot he had been sitting at alone mere hours ago, now kept company by keepsakes to help him never forget, as if it would even be possible. And willed his heart to keep beating.

 

 

Hawkeye didn’t comment on the disorder of the bed or his wrinkled clothes or ask him if he was ready. She already knew.

 

 

The most painful thing Roy ever had to do, even after the fight with Bradley, carrying the body of a child, and losing his eye, was saying goodbye to Edward Elric.

But on the coattails of Ed’s loss came Alphonse, sweet like sunshine, easing the pain like a kiss to the wound. He was so sharply intelligent it was frightening, even in the child’s body he had lost. And for all that Roy hated those marks, he finally got to see a lot of fives.

055515051985\. Ed wasn’t exaggerating. But whereas they thought Al would be 85, they now knew he would only be 78, a truer match to Roy’s own sum. The knowledge that he had so much life to possibly live had probably driven Ed even harder, Al said.

He also steadfastly refused to believe his brother was actually gone and wouldn’t tell Roy why. The colonel summed it up to the naivete and optimism of youth, the same that had drug the brothers into their demons to begin with. No one survived their number. But try telling that to an orphaned, brotherless ten-year-old.

No. He was a cynic. He was a bastard. But he wasn’t cruel.

So he draped the coat over Al’s shoulders and told him he would support his search, no matter the cost.

 

 

He filled out his resignation half a dozen times but burned them after sobering up.

The last one he wrote after a particularly rough day nearly made it to the post. Thankfully Riza caught him, at the bottom of a bottle and with a seal on the envelope, and more or less told him to buck the fuck up. That he would regret it, and regret wasting everyone’s time.

Roy paused hard and eyed her number. 204507021970. Of everyone on his team, she had the greatest sum.

He had the picture Ed had given him out on the table. It was usually enough to keep him from doing anything too stupid, but not today. He smiled. “Ed said the same thing.”

“He was wise beyond his years.” She was down on one knee in front of where he sat on the couch and clasped his hands in hers. In her eyes was a sadness that he had never seen before that night. It would probably never go away. “Honor him in the best way you can. You haven’t run away yet. _Fight back.”_

Roy knew Maes would have said the same. The three most important people in his life always did know what was best.

 

 

It took a year for him to find his feet, but when he did, he got angry.

Angry at the parents who abandoned their children and the institutions who refused them and everyone else who never gave them a chance. For forcing him to be tattooed as a child and Ed to carry his impending death like a lead weight so they could even have a shot at decent lives.

His fight wasn’t over yet. But after facing a homunculus, he felt like he could take on anything.

 

 

There was a reason Roy Mustang did not trust numbers.

Well, there _was_ one. Now there were two.

Because there was _Edward Elric._

Roy met him in the sky and again on the ground after Ed guided the foreign aircraft in the direction of the gate and then jumped ship. Outfitted in brand new automail and a cut on his cheek that did nothing but accentuate the beauty of his bone structure, he was as fierce and focused as Roy remembered and they didn’t even need to speak to cohesively and swiftly dismantle the gate.

Roy had turned in his pocket watch instead of his resignation, hadn’t so much as looked at his gloves since that day, but it felt like he’d never given up alchemy. The reactions hummed under his skin like a radio frequency and he'd never realized how much he missed it.

When things were finally quiet, Roy didn’t have the right to Ed – Alphonse would always come first, _always_ , whether it was because he hadn’t seen Ed in four years or four minutes, and that was okay. The mere sight, sound, and proximity of Ed’s presence caused the buzzing under his skin to fizzle over. He could only describe the feeling as coming home.

 

 

Two days later there was a knock on his door but this time there was no surprise when he opened it. It was vaguely different from their meeting in the mansion, Ed’s hair in a ponytail instead of wild around his shoulders and he didn’t need to look up now that they saw eye to eye. But that didn’t go to say it wasn’t like seeing him for the first time all over again. The white button down and navy pants were a far cry from his questionable attire as a teen, but _damn_ if it didn’t suit him.

“Hi,” Ed greeted breezily, slipping past Roy and into the apartment. Some things would never change, especially the way he made everything he did feel absolutely surreal. “Finally convinced Al to let go of me for longer than it takes to pee.”

Roy shut the door behind him. Ed wasn’t looking around but had his eyes trained on Roy, who wanted nothing more than to grab his face and kiss him until Ed couldn’t breathe. He was more than happy to suffocate for the cause, but he had to stop and remind himself that it had been four years. Four years that Ed had obviously lived _somewhere_ , and who was he to say he was still a part of his life in that way? Ed had only been eighteen. Four years seemed like forever.

So instead he slipped his hands into his pockets and kept them to himself. Ed watched the movement, lingering there before looking him in the eye. Roy’s mouth went dry at the coy little smile and crinkling of his eyes, gorgeous gold that he never thought he would see again.

Roy cleared his throat. “He always knew you were alive. His intuition was near contagious, but he wouldn’t tell anyone his reasoning.”

Ed’s eyes lost their amused light. “He didn’t want to tell you the truth.”

“I’m assuming it was wise of him to not say anything?”

The foyer wasn’t the place to be having that conversation, but it was taking the majority of Roy’s functional capacity to keep breathing and there just wasn’t room to formulate a plan to move elsewhere. Ed noticed.

“We should probably sit down,” he said as he took Roy by the wrist. “You look like you’re about to eat tile and this isn’t going to help.”

Roy allowed Ed to lead him into the great room with the ease of someone who may as well have lived there. The idea of Ed living in in his home - with him - made Roy’s heart jump. But to just have Ed _living_ was all he could have ever asked for.

They settled on the sofa with their knees pressed together and Roy was reminded of their awkwardly positioned make out session from all those years ago. He could feel the beginnings of a blush across his cheeks and he hoped Ed was as oblivious as he’d been as a teenager. But he himself was not the same person he'd been four years ago, and he wondered just how much of Ed was different too.

“Tell me about what you’ve been doing first,” Ed urged. “You quit alchemy. You were still badass the other day but don’t think I couldn’t tell.”

“Can’t sneak anything past you,” Roy said with a light laugh. “As soon as Grumman obtained the Fuhrership, I turned in my pocket watch.”

He couldn’t tell Ed that alchemy only served as a reminder that Ed was no longer there. That every time he looked at his gloves all he could see were Ed’s own, that each time he saw a flash of light or heard a clap of hands his heart cracked a little more.

Ed would have rolled his eyes and called him a sappy bastard. He did still roll his eyes right then, but it probably would have been harder. “He would let you get away with that. But you didn’t run away.”

Roy smirked. “I may have seriously considered it on several occasions but someone told me I wasn’t allowed to.”

Ed grinned back. “And for once you listened?”

“I feel like that ought to be directed at you.”

Ed huffed but it was just for show, his eyes bright and smiling. “And you still made it to general. Al told me about the work you and the team have done. Impressive.”

Fighting the battle of malnumeric discrimination had kept Roy moving forward when he was ready to dig his own grave. He should have been proud of their accomplishments, and he was, but it was like taking credit for a half-finished assignment.

“We’ve made some progress," he agreed.

Ed scoffed. "Don't try to down play this, you jerk. Homes for malnumeric children are receiving funding they never dreamed of. The kids have health care and can go to _school_ now, Roy. _Real_ school. They have a chance. That's huge."

The flood of mixed emotion that washed over Roy was almost too much when it collided with the fact that Ed could have been one of those kids and could have never had a chance and the same could be say for himself but they had made it by the skin of their teeth and they were both _alive and together_.

He had to remind himself to breathe. And he nodded. "But we’re a long way from the end goal.”

“Total privatization of marks?”

Roy nodded again. “We’re about to make a lot of terrible people very angry. And even after it will be a struggle to enforce, possibly dangerous for those of us imposing the bill, but-” Roy could feel his face darken. “It will be nothing compared to that night.”

Ed reached out and brushed a hand over Roy’s eye patch, curving just around his jaw as he pulled away. Roy's heart caught on a thread of hope. “You’ll still have to live a lie for the rest of your life.”

“As will you,” Roy said with a look at Ed’s automail hand, then let his eyes slowly trail back up to Ed’s face. “So. Enough about me.”

Ed took a deep breath. “I was impaled,” he said simply.

Roy’s breath caught. He thought maybe Ed would ease him into it a little, but he should have known better. Always 0 to 100 with this one. Lord help him.

“By Envy,” Ed continued, “right in the middle, wide open.” He placed a metal finger against the bottom of his sternum, as if Roy needed a visual reference. “Al used the stone to bring me back. And then I gave myself for him.”

Roy didn’t know what to say. With Ed warm and breathing and very much alive in front of him, he couldn’t imagine the horrific reality of what had given him his number.

“I had my limbs back for a few minutes. My mark was still there, but it was past one in the morning at that point. Rose told Al everything. Even as disoriented as he was, he knew something was up.”

Which really just left Roy with more questions than when they'd started. _What happened to your arm and leg? Where were you? Did you think of me at all? Do you know how often I thought of you?_

He still couldn’t find his words. Instead he gently turned Ed’s automail hand over. His false mark was there, nicked up from the battle but no worse for wear than it had been before. How Winry had guessed so close to his new measurements, Roy would never know. There was an incredible amount of art and intuition to her work.

“The Gate took my arm and leg back on my first trip through,” Ed explained, as if reading his mind.

Roy smiled sadly. “It’s almost fortunate. Can you imagine the field day that would be had over an expired number?”

“Simple filing error. Coulda changed the one to a seven, easy.”

“ _Not_ easy, speaking from experience, but conceded.”

He let Ed have his hand back, only for Ed to reach out and snag his wrist in return, flesh on flesh, turning it to reveal Roy’s mark. Ed swept his thumb over it, raising goosebumps on Roy’s skin. He looked smug, satisfied by the reaction. The hesitation Roy had felt bloomed into something warm and comforting.

“All we’ve talked about for the past four years is malnumerics,” Ed said, looking up. His fingers circled a little tighter around Roy’s wrist and the general’s heart was hammering.

“We have had exactly two conversations in the last four years,” Roy pointed out, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.

Ed shrugged and grinned. “Still not wrong.” He pulled Roy closer, much gentler than he had been years ago, until his breath was sweet on Roy’s face. Leather had been replaced by the soft smell of laundry detergent, but machine oil and mint remained. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Roy would do more than that, but it was a good place to start.

 

 

Roy Mustang and Alphonse Elric might live to be 78 years old. Roy’s team might live to their varying sums of 58 to 81. But Edward Elric was the only person Roy knew of living on borrowed time.

He stopped in the doorway to his study. Alphonse was sitting cross-legged on the chaise, so absorbed in his book that he didn’t notice Roy’s presence, which was for the best. It was embarrassing how much time he now spent just watching Ed. But within what he had thought was their final goodbye and all those years without him, Roy had realized it was all he wanted, and whatever more Ed was willing to offer was a gift he would do his best to cherish and convince himself he was deserving of. If he were lucky, they would count out the rest of their unnumbered days together.

And as Roy watched him, dozing in a pile of books under the window, sunshine and spring breeze streaming in through the open panes, he decided that nothing suited Edward Elric more than not being tied to what fate had given him.

 

 


End file.
